


Turn Unto My Calling

by Drazyrohk



Series: Not Quite a Redemption Story [4]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Hand wavy science, Mad Science, Medical Jargon, Medical Procedures, Mystery, Original Character(s), Rare Pairings, Robogore, Spark Sexual Interfacing (Transformers), Tactile Sexual Interfacing, Transformers Spark Bonds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:20:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25249807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drazyrohk/pseuds/Drazyrohk
Summary: Bonds and oaths alike are tested as one thing after another seems to go wrong and Knock Out winds up the protagonist of a much unwanted and unwelcome adventure.Takes place immediately following Dividing Lines.
Relationships: Cyclonus/Tailgate, Knock Out/Wheeljack, Megatron/Soundwave, Springer/Kup
Series: Not Quite a Redemption Story [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/288131
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	Turn Unto My Calling

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the third part of my Not Quite a Redemption Story trilogy!! Thank you for reading!

To say that things had been rather more strained as of late in the medical bay would be an understatement. To say that any amount of congeniality fostered between Perceptor and Knock Out had been erased would be pointing out the very obvious. 

Knock Out wasn’t sure if it was the fact he’d sided with Otto or the fact that Perceptor refused to believe he knew nothing about the origins of the Vehicons that was the final nail in a rather unsturdy coffin. He just knew that the warm, exuberant scientist had been swallowed up by the icy, frankly terrifying sniper and he felt perpetually caught in invisible crosshairs. 

Any attempt to get Wheeljack to commiserate with him was met with awkwardness. The ex-Wrecker still refused to speak ill of his former flame, and being on the receiving end of near tangible ire, Knock Out didn’t blame him one bit. Still, he wished his bonded would be a bit more understanding and supportive. 

Otto was similarly difficult to engage in such conversations. She steadfastly changed the subject as soon as it arose, and in the next few weeks, Knock Out stopped trying due to the increase in potentially fatal spark fluctuations his apprentice suffered. 

And then there was Ratchet, who was shouting more every day, who was actively throwing tools at the people who annoyed him, who wasn’t sleeping and probably wasn’t fueling himself sufficiently. Again. The only person Ratchet would listen to in regards to that was Otto, and Knock Out got the feeling he was doing it more out of pity than respect. 

Ugh, and of course, how could he forget Soundwave? Knock Out’s desk had been moved into the auxiliary bay due to the creepy fragger deciding to loudly and incessantly broadcast ‘intruder alert’ messages every time they were in the same room together. Which did nothing to improve Ratchet’s mood. And made Knock Out feel even more like a pariah than normal. 

The cherry on the oil cake, however, was the fact that the Vehicons-in-medical-training were often shuffled into the secondary bay with him and so he had to suffer through Roam being constantly present and playing her obnoxiously loud Earth music. And her pestering Otto to change her name to ‘Junebug.’ And her endless requests to look at all the medical scans belonging to ‘bots with big sparks,’ the little pervert. No amount of asking seemed to convince Bushfire to get her to leave either. 

Life couldn’t have possibly been better. 

Of course, life was always full of surprises and liked to keep Knock Out on his toes. 

“Explain something to me, First Aid.” Knock Out called as he entered the medical bay’s administrative office where the young mech was filing paperwork. 

“I will endeavour to, to the best of my abilities.” First Aid replied cheerfully. He was always in a good mood (unless there were Decepticons to perform surgery on, but they were working on that,) always polite and far kinder than Knock Out ever expected. 

“I am scheduled for surgery this afternoon. Cosmetic surgery. On the Commander.” Knock Out said as he perused the days itinerary. “Why are we not considering this a priority and doing it first thing this morning?”

“Bushfire took the morning for personal time. He’s your assist for the surgery and the Commander says he doesn’t mind waiting.” First Aid explained concisely. “We’ve double and triple checked with him. It’s all on the level.”

“Interesting. What sort of personal time might Bushfire need? Though I’m assuming his sister is with him since she’s not in here tormenting me.” Knock Out muttered. 

“He said something about visiting family.” First Aid said with a shrug. “I didn’t press him for more details. It’s not really my place to.” 

“At least tell me I’ve got something else to keep myself occupied while waiting for him to return.” Knock Out said with a long suffering tone. “While I would relish free time to see to my languishing finish, I hate being bored almost as much as I hate being interrupted and annoyed.”

First Aid laughed softly before he offered Knock Out the list of pending procedures for the day. Most of it was routine maintenance or minor cosmetic work, but it was a balm to the burgeoning boredom Knock Out sought to abolish. 

His nagging and scathing threats didn’t carry the same gravitas for his patients as Ratchet’s did, but he got his point across and was definitely prepared to follow up with any of those that rolled their optics or scoffed openly upon their departure. Ratchet wasn’t the only medic here with a reputation to keep.

Since reconstruction had begun on Cybertron’s surface, the rust storms and acid rain had begun to diminish. The dangerous clouds that gathered at the edges of the Acid Wastes were still a concern, but not a daily one as they had been when life began returning to the planet. 

That being said, the sound of thunder was always cause to consider seeking shelter. Usually it was no more than a distant and discontent rumble, a warning. Normally, it wasn’t loud enough or powerful enough to shake the ground and make towers tremble. And it certainly didn’t tend to knock mechs off their pedes. 

The tremendous crash of thunder that moved across the planet’s surface originated from near the Well, as loud and as terrible as the voice of Unicron himself. Once it reached the closest outpost, the distress calls began to pour in to High Command.

It gave Ultra Magnus no more than a minute to prepare himself. When it hit, it shorted out the comm lines and left them deafened to what was going on outside. 

Was it an attack? Was it a bomb? Was it Primus himself? 

“Rebooting the systems now!” One of the Vehicons on comm called out over the clamour of voices in the room. “Thirty seconds to reestablish communications!” 

“What in the Pit was that?” Arcee asked as she hurried over to join Magnus at the top of the steps outside his office. 

“We won’t know until we can get our systems up and running.” Ultra Magnus muttered. “I just hope it didn’t knock out all our security as well.” 

“I’m going to head to the med bay, just in case it did.” Arcee said in a tense tone.

“With haste, soldier.” Ultra Magnus’ mouth pulled into a tight line and his field rippled with discontent. “I will send someone down to the brig as well.” 

The last thing they needed right now was dangerous Decepticons and justifiably imprisoned Neutrals and Autobots running loose. 

“Status report!” He barked to those in the room below. 

“Internal system checks show that security, life support and medical are all online and holding steady. Communication lines are back up. Still getting distress calls from the outposts, sir.” The Vehicon replied immediately. 

“Was it a seismic anomaly?” Ultra Magnus asked. 

“No sir. No seismic activity around the well detected.” The Vehicon sounded hesitant as it spoke. 

“Ultra Magnus, sir!” Prowl’s voice preceded him, and the mech didn’t wait to be acknowledged before he bounded up the stairs, door wings held high and quivering behind him. “Was that what I think it was?” 

“We have little to no information at this time, so I can’t say.” Ultra Magnus said. He returned the belated salute that Prowl offered him. “What are your thoughts on the matter?” 

“Sir, it felt very familiar. Very similar to the shock wave generated by one of the members of Megatron’s Command Trine.” Prowl said with a frown. “The only problem with that is, I was under the impression they were all dead.” 

Since Starscream had disappeared immediately following Optimus’ sacrifice and Megatron denouncing the Decepticons and declaring the end of the war, that was the impression Ultra Magnus had as well. 

“You’re speaking of Thundercracker, yes? Starscream’s brother?” Ultra Magnus asked. 

“I am, sir.” Prowl nodded.

“I thankfully never experienced his particular outlier ability, but it does seem improbable considering he was reported dead eons ago.” Ultra Magnus made a quiet, thoughtful sound. 

“It is possible those reports were falsified. Decepticons living up to their names.” Prowl shook his helm. 

“Possible, yes. But highly improbable that Thundercracker would suddenly return and make his presence so obviously known.” Ultra Magnus said.

“We can’t rule anything out with the Decepticons still unaccounted for out there. As we witnessed before the armistice was signed, there are those who aren’t ready to admit defeat.” Prowl insisted. 

“Are you saying we should be anticipating an attack?” Ultra Magnus asked. 

Before Prowl could answer, the Vehicon manning the comms turned to look up at them both. “Sir! Another distress call! This one coming from one of our Seekers!” He said. 

“What’s the situation?” Ultra Magnus demanded. 

“Patching the call through.” The Vehicon manipulated the controls in front of him, then the room was filled with noise. 

Over the furious roaring and shrieking of what could have only been a Predacon, Ultra Magnus could make out Roam’s voice. Shrill, frantic and in obvious distress, her words were cutting in and out and filled with static. 

“-taking fire! Bushfire is badly injured, _zzkt_ … immediate bridge to medical! Please, help us! Get us _sszz_ here!” There was the sound of jet engines straining, Roam’s vents heaving, and a gargling whimper. “Oh frag, it’s coming back. It’s getting up! Please, we need a bridge home! Coordinates are-” 

The shrieking of the Predacon nearly drowned her out, and the comm line was becoming more frazzled. 

“Open a bridge and page medical. Security team, stand by! We have one of our own coming in hot!” Ultra Magnus shouted over an open line. 

When the call reached Ratchet, he was perhaps a touch more curt than necessary. The strange shock wave had caused a few hiccups that made his fluid pressure spike and he was still trying to double and triple check that neither Soundwave nor Ravage could get out of their containment, not to mention making sure the few mechs on life support weren’t in danger of having ventilators or spark stabilizers go offline. 

‘All hands on deck’ was a bit of a joke. He longed for the days of having more than a handful of apprentices and engineers as backup for surgery. 

And now, one of those apprentices, perhaps the most promising of them, was headed in as a patient in need of urgent care. 

“If this is your idea of a bad joke, I am _not_ laughing.” Ratchet cursed under his breath. 

“I didn’t take you for a mech of faith, Ratchet.” First Aid said to him in surprise. He was scrubbing in at the basin next to Ratchet and had managed to catch the hissed words. 

“You presume I was speaking to Primus.” Ratchet flicked solvent off his servos with perhaps a little too much force. 

No, it wasn’t Primus he was cursing. It was Optimus. As if somehow, this was his fallen friend’s fault.

Sucking in a deep breath and clenching his teeth, Ratchet dried off and headed into the surgical suite that was being prepped by Otto and Knock Out. 

“Deep breaths.” Knock Out was saying softly to Otto, who nodded weakly in return. 

“Sorry to thrust you into this position.” First Aid told her as he joined them. 

“It’s alright. I’ll be alright.” Otto insisted. 

“You have no choice but to be.” Ratchet didn’t say it to be unkind. This was a reality that Otto would no doubt face in the future as well. With so few medics available, they would be forced to repair even their own colleagues. 

When Bushfire was rushed in, it looked incredibly grim. He was missing an arm, a leg and both wings. His chest plate had been mauled partially open by huge claws. His paint was bubbling and peeling from what looked like a point blank energy blast. 

But he was alive. Alive and in agony. His optics were impossibly wide behind his smashed visor, his remaining arm had to be restrained to keep him from further damaging his chest plates in an attempt to hold them closed. 

Making things even worse was Roam’s wailing in the next room. Inconsolable and hysterical, she tried to follow her brother into the surgical suite. It took both Wheeljack and Perceptor to stop her, the two holding her back and eventually forcing her to sit so that she could be examined herself. 

“Ratchet, I can’t make sense of his spark readings.” Otto said from her spot near the monitors where she’d been stationed. Ratchet figured it would be easier to look at numbers and readings rather than what was left of her friend on the table. 

“What do you mean?” Ratchet asked without lifting his helm. He was swiftly cauterizing and clamping open lines to preserve what little energon Bushfire had left in him while First Aid set up a transfusion. 

“They’re fluctuating but… but they’re very strong. Stronger than usual.” Otto said with a rather frantic tone. 

“A surge perhaps?” Knock Out queried, which prompted First Aid to say his name in a scolding tone. “Look at him, how could it be anything but?” 

“It’s not a surge.” Ratchet said. He spared a glance at the monitor before going back to work. “Bushfire isn’t dying. Not today.” 

“Then why?” Otto asked. 

“It doesn’t matter why! I need to concentrate. Tell me if his vitals take a dive, otherwise I don’t need to know what’s happening over there.” Ratchet snapped. 

“Yes sir.” Otto murmured sadly. 

Roam was in remarkably good shape for someone who had fended off a Predacon attack. There were superficial wounds, some energy blast damage, but she was intact. 

She was also hyperventilating and remained hysterical as Wheeljack used his scant field medic training to assess her. Her frame rattled as she shook from helm to pede, and in between desperate gasps for air, she called desperately for her brother. 

“You need to calm down before you suffer a spasm.” Perceptor said in a firm voice. “Your brother is in good servos.” 

“I can’t lose him I can’t lose him he’s all I have all I have all that’s left-” Roam began to rock in place, panting open mouthed. “Bushfire. Please, please don’t take him. He’s all I have.” 

“Your hysterics aren’t going to help anyone, Roam.” Perceptor said with frustration. 

“Lay off.” Wheeljack muttered to him. “That’s not helping either.” 

“Well, I-” Percy spluttered. 

“Roam. Look at me.” Wheeljack interrupted the other engineer. 

Roam continued to rock, her gaze unfocused and her vents still working hard. She startled when Wheeljack touched her face, then took hold of the back of her neck. 

“Look at me.” Wheeljack repeated. 

Roam blinked, then turned her optics to Wheeljack and focused on him. 

“That’s it. You with me?” Wheeljack asked. He squeezed the back of Roam’s neck gently, and smiled when she nodded. “Okay good. Listen to me, you gotta remember to breathe.” 

“I think she’s trying rather hard to do that already.” Perceptor muttered next to him. 

“Too hard, actually. Get one of those sedatives from the third cupboard on the right. The mild ones.” Wheeljack replied. 

Perceptor nodded in acquiescence and stood. Wheeljack turned his attention back to Roam, moving his hand from her neck to her shoulder. 

She was breathing a bit better now, more deeply but less frantically. She clutched her hand to her chest and looked at the doors to the surgical suite. 

“There ain’t nobody better to handle a job like this than Ratchet. Trust me on that one, the ol’ battleaxe is gonna see your brother is up and around in no time. All you gotta do right now is breathe. Your spark’s workin’ real hard and we don’t want you windin’ up on a table like Bushfire, okay?” Wheeljack drew her attention back to him, and Roam managed a weak nod. 

She closed her optics briefly, and Wheeljack let her take hold of his servo with one of her own. 

“That’s it. You’re doin’ great.” Wheeljack said. 

Perceptor brought over the sedative and Wheeljack thanked him quietly. As it was administered, Roam took in a deep, shaking breath. 

“It came out of nowhere.” She said in a strained voice. 

“The Predacon?” Wheeljack asked. He glanced at Perceptor, who nodded and began recording the conversation. They’d be able to give it to Ultra Magnus as a report later, sparing Roam from having to tell the story as second time before she was ready. 

“Yeah. We were at the Well, visiting our brother.” Roam explained, and her hand gripped Wheeljack’s a little more tightly. “I was playing him a song. I found a new one I thought he’d really like.” 

Her voice broke and Wheeljack murmured soft encouragement to her. 

“Then… then all the sparks started acting strange. They started swirling around like scraplets before they darted back into the well. You could feel their panic…” Roam explained after a moment. 

Perceptor was leaning against the counter nearby, his expression pensive. He didn’t interrupt, keeping whatever questions he might have had to himself for the time being. 

“Then the Predacon came out of the rubble on the far side of the Well. It was so fast, and before we could really react, it shot at Bushfire. We began trying to retreat, we had both taken fire, and nothing we did seemed to stop it or even slow it down.” Roam continued. Her brows knit and she took in another slow breath. 

“How did you not end up like your brother?” Wheeljack asked tentatively. 

“Bushfire was closer to it. He tried to take off but the thing had wings and it got over him in the air. It landed on him and drove him towards the ground, tore off one of his arms. It grabbed Bushfire’s wings…” Roam trailed off, her field flickering with confusion. She met Wheeljack’s optics and shook her helm. 

“It’s alright. What happened next?” Wheeljack urged. 

“Bushfire did something. I don’t even know how to explain it. I don’t even know if he did it on purpose. There was this… energy. This charge. It built up to the point where you could taste it in the air, then he let it out. It was so loud.” Roam breathed.

“The shock wave. That was Bushfire?” Perceptor asked, and he straightened up with interest. 

“It was. Whatever he did, it knocked the Predacon off of him, but that’s when he lost his wings. Since it was holding onto them at the time, y’know.” Roam shuddered and squeezed Wheeljack’s hand again. “Whatever it was, it gave me enough time to get to Bushfire. I picked him up and pushed my engines as hard as I could to get him out of there. The comms were down so I couldn’t call for help. I thought… I thought I’d lose him for sure. I thought we were both done for.” 

“You didn’t though. You got him out of there. You got both of you out of there.” Wheeljack said. 

“I hope it was soon enough to save him.” Roam said with sorrow. 

“You gotta hope for the best. Those medics in there are gonna put him back together. No one is gonna let Bushfire go without one hell of a fight.” Wheeljack insisted, and he stood with a smile. “Especially Ratchet and Knock Out. You couldn’t ask for two medics more stubborn or proud.” 

“I will literally give my own limbs and organs to keep him alive.” Roam said suddenly. “If they need a new t-cog, Bushfire can have mine. A fuel pump? A motherboard? Anything at all!” 

“I’m rather sure they can find spares in other places, but the sentiment is… sweet.” Perceptor said hesitantly. “I’d like to know more about the shock wave.” 

“You can ask again when Bushfire’s out of danger. I think we ought to let Roam rest for now.” Wheeljack said with a frown. “Why don’t you go and let Magnus know what Roam told us?” 

“I will do that.” Perceptor said with a rather eager nod, though he hesitated once more before leaving the room. 

_Is it safe to ask for an update?_ Wheeljack asked Knock Out. 

_Not yet._ Knock Out replied immediately. _I’m not going to lie. It doesn’t look good. But I am happy to report that Ratchet has definitely kept his edge in his old age. He’s a legend for a reason._

_Do I need to worry?_ Wheeljack teased. He moved to get Roam something to drink so he could hide his fond smile. 

_Hm, I’m not sure. His physique has a certain something, doesn’t it?_ It was refreshing to hear that Knock Out was able to snark like this in such a situation. It gave Wheeljack hope. 

“Impossible.” 

The single word was snarled rather than spoken, and its sentiment was felt keenly and echoed by those who understood its context. 

“Once upon a time, I would agree with you.” Strika replied to Cyclonus without prompting and with little hesitation. 

“He is dead.” Cyclonus growled from the dark corner of his cell where he spent most of his time. 

“Nothing at all would surprise me at this point. Look at where we are, Cyclonus.” Strika said with a chuckle. 

“And to be completely honest, it would be just like Starscream to lie about the fate of his brethren.” Onslaught said from his own cell. 

“It was unmistakable.” Strika said in amusement. 

“It is _impossible._ There is no such thing as a miracle, and I do not appreciate the false hope such a thing provides.” Cyclonus said bitterly. 

“What do you mean?” Onslaught asked. 

“He’s referring of course to his tenuous position as Winglord in the absence of all other members of the Command Trine.” Strika’s amusement only deepened, the glee in her voice only serving to elicit a furious rumble from Cyclonus. 

“A position I never asked for nor coveted.” Cyclonus said bluntly. 

“Well, this turn of events should make you happy, not irate. If that was indeed the sound of the outlier ability that gave dear Thundercracker his name, it would leave you off the hook.” Strika chided. 

“Ha!” Whirl barked out a laugh somewhere down the hall. “Yeah right! I heard Starscream fed him to Sharkticons.” 

“That is the rumor, yes. But one thing we can all agree on is how little you can trust anything Starscream says.” Strika mused. “Sadly, we may never know. Being stuck down here means we’re always the last to hear any gossip from up above.” 

“Why don’t you just ask Mags next time you two have a date?” Whirl said with a cackle. 

“Or maybe Cyclonus could sweet talk his drone into delivering him the latest news.” Onslaught snorted in distaste. “After all, the thing can’t seem to shut up when he’s around you.” 

“Be silent, before I find a way out of here to silence you myself.” Cyclonus threatened without missing a beat. 

The flicker in the dampening fields had been just enough to send out a desperate signal. Lasting seconds, wordless but to the point, the signal reached its target without fail. 

It changed things. Megatron hadn’t bothered the Autobots since he had declared the war over himself. He saw no point in it. 

Optimus was gone. Unicron was gone too, contained and never to be released. Cybertron lived, albeit a limping existence that grew more infested every day. No one ruled, they all just existed together. 

He had been content to keep himself in solitude. He had returned to writing, and he had Starscream’s restoration to keep himself entertained. It was a meager living, but after his failed grandiose plans in the past, he was happy enough with it.

The signal, however, ignited in him something he thought was lost. The determination, perhaps even the hope he thought swallowed by Unicron’s possession, it flickered to life once again. 

The Autobots had something of his. And no matter what it took, Megatron was going to get it back.


End file.
